Duel:Eboric v Javelin, Match 7 of the Frostmaw Tournament

Duelists: Eboric vs. Javelin.
Duel: Traditional 3 posts each, with final defense. 10 minute posting limit.
Stakes: Autohit post. Advancement in the Titans of Winter Tournament 2012.
Judges: Satoshi, Kuzial

Frostmaw Colosseum

(Continued from Match 6)

Satoshi stands as the drow leaves, likewise not even bothering to announce his victory as she instead gestures for the ever-waiting healers to tend to Ignatius and remove him from the field. Raising a hand as the knight is guided away--but not before she nods gratefully to him for a fight well fought--the foxkin gathers the crowd's attention as quickly as she's able. "We have an unusual match up next~. Or rather, -matches-, as the final four combatants will face each other on each half of the arena. Will those four step forward now, please?" Even as Satoshi calls for the fighters to appear, the arena floor begins to rumble and a line of blue light spreads from the central monolith. In mere seconds the light cleaves the floor in two and begins to rise in the air, appearing like a gossamer curtain, save that this curtain is woven of the kit's own magic--and augmented by the immense arcane gem beneath the colosseum. With each ripple, the sheet of frosted magic erupts into jagged spikes of ice, a promise to inflict severe bodily harm along with frostbite, to any that stray too near. "Gorzhageigk and Ryker to the northern end of the field. Eboric and Javelin to the southern end."

Javelin arises from where he had been spectating the recently concluded duel, a barely noticeable smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he makes his way down to the grounds in preparation of the upcoming match.

Hanan huffed. "Damn it all, two at once? That's so... stupid."

Ryker roars in response, the labored beat of his mending wings sounding over the arena as he brings himself towards the northern end. The wall of ice did little to intimidate, but was a strange addition. Perhaps it would work well with his plans. Once over the section he was to fight in he tucked in his wings and dove down, slamming onto the ground. The proud beast rose his head and awaited the appearance of his opponent while his mind reeled with possibilities of how to rise out of this victorious.

Gorzhageigk happens to be sitting in the stands on the northern end of the arena 'cause vague narrativism is nifty like that. He stands and slowly waddles out onto the battlefield.

Quinmyutiotu scurries up the stair shaped seats when somebody familiar in the booth catches her eye. In one of the nearest seats just outside of it, she leans out as far as possible without falling over and waves in attempt to get his attention. "Psst~! Wraithy One!"

Kirien is staring with intrigue into the arena and its newly-formed wall of ice, seemingly interested in the barrier's creation and in that massive jewel hidden beneath more than anything. At least, he is until someone nearby catches his attentions and the empath blinks up and away from the arena - he stares bemusedly at Quin for a couple of seconds before the realisation hits him and he effectively throws himself out of his seat, barreling into her to wrap her in a firm hug. "Quin~!"

Hanan stomped off toward the more human-sized fight end of the arena. "5000 on Eboric. Any takers?"

Eboric leaps down onto his section of the colosseum floor from the spectator's seats, swathed in a black bearskin cloak. He struts further out toward the center of the alloted arena half, ensuring that he can be seen by all. With a feral grin, he throws back the cloak, letting it hang behind him as the wan light of the fading sun gleams from the polished mithril mail underneath. The barbarian looks a warlord, with his thigh-length hauberk worn over leather, his legs, feet, and shoulders encased in Everfrost from here in Frostmaw, and gold and silver rings glittering on his arms. With a mocking salute toward the booth where the distinguished guests sit, he raises his helmet to his head, his grinning features at once hidden behind the ornate steel mask. The warrior's attention now focuses in on Javelin as he unlimbers his weapons; first, his trusty seaxe, its heavy blade freshly sharpened, and then a flail, three ugly, spiked balls chained to a short stick. There are other weapons at his belt, but they remain there for now as the big man advances with the easy grace of one born to fight. He closes the distance between himself and his foe at that same pace, only bursting into action at the last possible moment. He feints to his left with the seaxe, meaning to draw Javelin's attention there, while the flail whistles through the air in a swift, sudden jerk! The spikes head for Javelin's left leg, aimed to wrap around the limb and thud solidly into flesh, allowing the barbarian to heave back with all of his strength in hopes of pulling the other man off balance and then, with a savage thrust, send the seaxe straight through Javelin's throught; a swift, gory end to a fight that has just begun.

Jerica tries not to appear apprehensive as Eboric leaves his seat for the arena. She does and admirable job even if she can't see her own expression. Two fights at once and only one of them she's truly interested in. She finds herself dividing her attention between both.

Hanan yells louder. "I said, 5000 on the guy in the bearskin! Anyone want to go against?"

Quinmyutiotu nearly topples over when Kirien reaches her, but ends up practically clinging to him instead. "I missed you so very very much!" She had a million questions to ask, but instead of bombarding Kirien with them she juts her head toward the arena below and grins. "Are you doing the fightings there as well? I did!"

Javelin appears to undergo a major transformation upon receiving the signal to begin, the nonchalant posture vanishing only to be replaced by one of deadly purpose. Booted feet crunch against the icy ground of Frostmaw as the elf digs in for battle, and a slender appendage is lowered to his hip, deft digits wrapping themselves around the bejeweled hilt of En'theri. Javelin's famed brand is inched from it's sheathe with the distinct sound of steel grating against steel, revealing a blade of exquisite craftsmanship, with painstakingly-carved elven runes running down it's length permeating an unfathomable aura of mystical power. His lightly-armoured torso tenses for action not unlike a coiled spring as Eboric approaches, and En'theri is brought before him in anticipation of the incoming attack from the seaxe. Chastisement for his mistake came swiftly as the spiked flail makes contact, sanguine vitae spilling forth onto the ground as the elf lets forth an audible cry of pain. Only outstanding dexterity born of his elven heritage enabled him to save himself from being crippled too badly, as he hurls himself to the side in a desperate endeavor to escape the awaiting menace of Eboric's seaxe. The elf's jaw sets in grim determination as En'theri is once more brought up with apex directed towards Eboric, and he breaks into a run, albeit limping slightly. Brandishing his weapon, Javelin weaves the blade in an intricate pattern, the complexity of his movements a testament to his skill with the weapon, honed by arduous decades spent in training. Nonetheless, such fanciful maneuvers were merely meant to pry the werebear's attention from the actual offensive. Upon nearing his opponent, a simple yet brutally effective strike, precisely the kind favoured by the elf in his style of fighting, came in the form of a diagonal upward slash, with a vehement twist of the body to allow for greater momentum in hopes of rending the werebear from groin to neck.

Gorzhageigk stares out across the field at his bronze opponent. He reaches up, takes a long draw from the cigar hanging from his mouth, drops it to the snow-covered ground, and stamps it out with his foot. Smoke pours from his nose and mouth. The obtuse gentleman seems to stretch yet, with each flex of muscle hidden beneath coats of fat, his arms and legs extend and widen and clothes and skin alike give way to the dragon's natural scale-covered form. Shiny dress shoes melt into enormous dull-brown claws, once straight legs buckle and collapse as they struggle to support the dragon's ever-enlarging form. He topples forward only to catch himself on two massive forearms. Wings sprout from his sides and trail all the way down the strong tail protruding from his backside and all the up to his head which melts and molds into an enormous and frightening maw. His deafening roar splits the evening air. With little more ceremony, two strong wing beats drag the brown dragon into the air. He locks onto his opponent and rockets towards him, feigning a collision with the other dragon in favor of swooping past him and slamming his massive tail, lined with razor sharp scales, into Ryker's neck.

Satoshi yells back at Hanan, "8000 gold to you, if the bearskin fellow, -and- the fat dragon both lose!"

Eboric abandons the flail without a second thought, his now freed right hand dropping to his belt once more to draw forth an axe, its bearded head light and engraved with leaves and vines, a gift from the elven druid Landirion. Thus armed, he watches his foe through narrowed eyes, waiting without a hint of trepidation for the attack to come. When it does, he is ready, simply stepping in to throw off the intended target, his axe slamming down in an effort to parry the blow altogether. This fails, however, instead merely turning the blow so that it slams into his hip at an upward angle, cutting up under the hauberk to slice open the flesh at his hip. With a grunt of what could be either pain or anger, Eboric advances the step or two that remains between himself and his hopefully off-balanced foe, where he appears to feint with the axe, striking out with it in an easily read swing, his left arm already moving with the seaxe so as to make it look as though he intends to repeat his earlier attack. Instead, however, his left hand stops in that split-second, while he exerts every shred of strength in his right arm in a burst, speeding up the flight of the axe so that what had once seemed to be a feint is now the true attack, the wickedly curved blade aimed to sink solidly into Javelin's side, where the magic of the elven druids, worked into the blade, can make themselves known, rotting the flesh around the point of impact at a rapid rate, the blackened area liable to spread further and further, the longer the axe remains embedded in Javelin's body.

Kirien thankfully manages not to squash Quin completely, because she's still grinning and chirping away. He does pull back after a moment just to make sure he didn't accidentally injure her with that tackling hug, the ensuing battles in the arena below momentarily cast out of mind. "I missed you too! I never expected to run into you here of all places, though! And-- I got your letter! And the boxes! They caused quite an uproar, I think." There's a grin at the memory of it before he turns to glance back to the arena then shakes his head some. "I'm not, from how this es all going, so I'm just spectating-- but you're fighting? Ahh, good luck then!"

Hanan yelled right back. "You want me to bet against the fat dragon?! He's fat! I judge dragons by the pound!"

Satoshi said to Hanan, "Fine! 1000 gold says the little shiny one gets a broken wing. And another 1000 if the elf loses some teeth."

Hanan said to Satoshi, "Ha!" Hanan laughed. "Fine. I'lll take you up on it. Elves don't need teeth, anyway."

Ryker had been hoping for such a fierce enemy to face him. His own wings, one a bit limp and hanging slightly began beating furiously. All the while he had been collecting his own electricity and saliva in his throat. While rising the massive tail caught him by surprise, the swiftness of the strike sending him crashing into the arena's wall. Along with the battering of the blow, he also felt his scales weakened, the razor edges of Gorzhageigk's scales grinding against and thinning the bone-like makeup of his own natural armor. His head quickly cleared from the daze and he rose once more into the air, using his own natural powers to grow in size, as of right now he was several times smaller than the brown dragon. Glittering wings edged with emerald beat against the wind as they grew with his body until he reached his current limit, which was two-thirds the size of his opponent. Unhinging his jaw he shot up into the air, spraying a mass of electrified saliva down upon the dragon below, which would both amplify future lightning attacks and begin to numb the muscles, which would in turn make his opponent sluggish and less agile, perhaps even temporarily traumatize the body enough into a minor paralysis. When he reached about three quarters of the arena's height, he furled his wings and dive-bombed Gorzhageigk, claws open and the fleshy film covering his eyes, creating a blindness. Although hindered by this, the sheer size of his opponent would allow him to make contact as he went for where the blood flowed the hottest, taking in the smell as it guided him to his enemy's back where he would try and find purchase and rake away at the scales with tooth and claw until he could get to the weak flesh beneath.

Antonio sighed coldly, wisps of mist curling free from his breath, he stood at the entrance for a moment, before climbing into the stand, and finding himself a suitable spot on his own to watch the current events. He leaned his scythe next too him, leaned back, and watched the... Fun, ensue.

Hanan glanced at Ryker's spit-flinging flight in utter, utter disgust. "Blech."

Satoshi wishes she had an umbrella. Raining drool is just nasty.

Cyllth would like to remind the Queen just whose idea it was to have no shields or barriers between the combatants and spectators.

Satoshi is not subject to her own rules, dammit! Shh, dragon-pony!

Quinmyutiotu 's smile grew even wider. The boxes reached him! She pulls Kirien into a second tight hug. "Eee! You did? Did you like everything? I was so worried that they wouldn't be able to find you!" With a pause, she mimics Kirien and glances at the arena, then flinches at the sight of a dragon. "Oh, there are the Scaley Ones.. I've never seen the real Scaley Ones, nope!" Her head shakes with a slight frown at Kirien. "And you aren't doing the fightings? That might be a good thing, I think. They're the very dangerous kinds. See?" She points at her flower-filled eye socket. "I lost one of my seers."

Xalik Blocks the oncoming drool with his shield, his mask shifting into a different design as he sat there.

Micah rubs pink hands together, to grant them the comfort of momentary warmth, before shoving them back into his pockets. A futile attempt at retaining the newly gained warmth, as fingers poked out of mentioned pockets from various holes. Inhaling in a sniffling manner, through an equally pink nose, Micah advances at a trudging gait to a suitable spot of his own to watch the proceeding events. Wrapping his torn scarf tighter around his face as he continued. All the wall, eyes scanning the vast colosseum. The spectacle's awesome display of architecture giving way to pause momentarily.

Javelin is momentarily taken aback as Eboric draws forth a third weapon, En'theri being the only one he had; indeed, the only one he needed, most of the time. Despite his brief surprise, the elf lets forth a relieved exhalation as his blade scores home, though the wound proved less shallow then he'd have like it to be. Still, the odds were balanced out now, both of them had drawn blood. The elf pirouettes gracefully on his heels to recover and press advantage, yet even as he spins to face the werebear, he is greeted by a flurry of blows that prevents him from doing so. A tingling sensation runs down his spine, an indication from his warrior sense of impending danger; having learnt to heed it's warnings, Javelin backpedals as rapidly as his injured limb will allow, avoiding the seaxe entirely and narrowly parrying the wicked-looking axe that irked him so. That didn't mean he went unscathed, though. Such quick movement was not intended for one with a limp, and his injured leg buckles under the impact of the parry, leaving the elf in a temporarily vulnerable position. Ever the improvisor, Javelin takes a swipe at his opponent's legs, hoping to score at least as crippling a blow as the one inflicted upon himself. Should this fail, however, the followthrough manifested itself in a forceful thrust towards the abdominal area in an attempt to impale the fellow, which would prove near impossible to dodge should the werebear attempt to avoid the first blow by jumping above reach of the sword.

Gorzhageigk completes a circle around the arena, never losing site of his opponent as he slams into the wall, recovers, and takes to the air. Then, the little bugger spits on him. Gorzhageigk flaps his wings and attempts to vacate the general vicinity before any of the other beast's bile could touch him. Unfortunately, his own massive size already denies him the natural agility of most dragons and his tail catches the brunt of the insulting attack causing it to tingle quite like he had been sitting on it for some time. Nevertheless, Gorzhageigk spirals through the air, his unique kite-like wing structure allowing him to fly upside down, and stares his opponent down as he rockets towards him. As Ryker reaches out to begin clawing away at his scales and the flesh beneath, the great brown beast reaches up to envelop the bronze's slightly smaller claws in his own. He twists around once more and beats his wings, righting himself and sending the pair soaring towards the icy barrier separating the arena. His wings flare as they both near it, rapidly slowing Gorzhageigk as he releases his opponent from the grapple. Momentum alone should be enough to send the poor dragon flying towards that deadly wall of ice.

Eboric , his leg injured, cannot hope to leap out of the way, nor is a man of his bulk the sort to be jumping around to begin with. Instead of dodging, he almost casually drops the axe down to absorb the sword's force, and takes a step toward the downed elf. The thrust, however, takes him in the side, only missing the stomach because of that one step. The sword's tip punches through the polished hauberk, scoring along one of the barbarian's ribs and releasing a sheet of blood. Eboric steps back then, and shakes his head. He seems to have grown irritated, and wearied from his wounds, for he lets loose a bellow of rage before staggering forward once more and lashing out with the axe. Instead of aiming to hack into his foe again, however, he brings the axe around in a low arc designed to stop behind the elf's back, where Eboric can haul back on the handle so that the beard of the blade can hook into Javelin's body, in hopes of pulling him toward the barbarian who, with another roar, throws himself forward and down, slamming his head out at the same time, meaning to smash his helmeted forehead into the elf's face; a staggering blow, to say the least, and Eboric's best effort to win Satoshi a bit of extra gold on her wager. This is followed by the seaxe, which rushes in from one side, the sloping tip aimed to pierce through Javelin's side, ripping through skin, flesh, and guts alike, leaving Eboric kneeling over a neatly gutted foe.

Micah finds the mountainous regions of Frostmaw much to cold at the moment. Next time he'd bring his jacket.

Satoshi cheers rather loudly when the barbarian makes a move to headbutt Javelin. "Knock them all out!"

Kirien 's tail is now swishing enthusiastically behind him; he'd really never imagined meeting Quin again in a place like this, had wondered when he -would- see her again, in fact. "I did and everything was wonderful! All those drawings and-- I loved it all! And the planty thing! It lives in my room here, now." Attentions swing back to the arena and for a few seconds Kirien squints in the direction of the fighting pairs, absently taking in the flow of each battle as best he can. "You've never seen dragons?" he asks, blinking back round at Quin and looking a little taken aback when she reveals that she lost one of her eyes. A curious finger raises to poke at the rim of the socket and brush over the petals of the flowers peeking out of it. "Ah, you're like me now! And, really I'd quite like to join in the fighting, but I wasn't quick enough to snag a spot."

Ryker continues on his descent, even more anxious as Gorzhageigk flies with his belly towards the sky. An easy target he would be, a finer spray, more like a mist, was released from his maw upon his opponent when he was close enough to bear. Just like his saliva before, it was electrified, just the effects would be more dulled. As his claws rake away, he was continuously building up the static in his throat. Then all of a sudden he was struggling to escape from an enemy that had so easily overpowered him. Turning his head, he saw where his opponent was taking him and knew only too late what was going to happen as he was thrown. His body was tossed, but his wings outstretched allowed him the ability to slow his path down considerably, enough in fact that he was able to turn his head and released a pink arc of thunderous might upon the wall, striking and carving a path through it that shortly after exploded into a cloud of falling debris and icy particles. Spikes tore into the soft flesh of his wings, and battered upon his body while he fell to crash upon the arena floor. Once he recovered, his body accustomed to lower temperatures, however not to magic of this type, he only briefly acknowledged the layer of frost developing and slowing his movements, attempting to pierce his flesh to the bone and turn him into a mere sculpture, frozen in time. Through all of this though, his focus was only partially deterred. Using a bit of magic, the cloud was sent towards his enemy, the brown dragon more habituated in warmer climes that the gust-guided icy cloud with disorientate his foe. As a final strike he spat out a ball of lightning that would work in tandem with the ice to electrocute and further traumatize the dragon into falling to the ground, should his misty spray of static saliva have worked earlier. All the while he would be waiting on the ground, charging for where his enemy would land to lunge for the throat, only all to eager to end the battle.

Hanan growled at Eboric. Stupid Elf! "WEAR A DAMN MOUTHGUARD, Y'--" The rest was lost in profanity.

Javelin emits a gasp of agony as he dislodges his blade from the werebear's flank; even aided as he was by Eboric's retreat, such an effort still brought jarring discomfort to his battered limb. Hardy as the elf was, those of his race fought by agility and speed, yet that option had been removed from him since the very start of the tourney. Deprived of his niche, he had no choice but to engage in direct, frontal combat, putting him at a natural disadvantage to his larger opponent. The situation seemed dire indeed, and could only get more so as Eboric's roar heralds an all-new and all too devastating maneuver to follow. Burying the tip of En'theri in the ground, Javelin was in the midst of propping himself up as he feels himself forcibly whisked over to the werebear's side; swift reflexes still available to him in his current state would only allow him to partially avoid the irate werebear's headbutt as he jerked his head to the side such that the blow struck was a mere glancing one. Even so, the collision between helmeted and un-helmeted head was sufficient to knock the elf groggy, glancing blow or no. Javelin shakes his head vigorously to clear his clouding vision, only to witness the threat of Eboric's seaxe flying in to gut him. Knowing that to avoid such a blow would be nigh impossible, injured as he was, the elf flourishes En'theri and charges headlong towards Eboric with blade levelled towards chest, hoping that such a strike at close quarters would force the werebear to withdraw his finishing blow in favour of self-defence, or if he did not, that the vicious attack would end the one who fell him as well. Pale lips clamp shut to refrain from calling upon the innate magic that lies dormant within his bejeweled brand, proud as the elf was, as he refused to submit to the fact that his mastery with the blade was lesser than anyone else's.

Eboric does not cease his desperate lunge with the seaxe, allowing it to land where it will. Nor, however, does he allow the elf to stab him through the chest. The Axe of Creeping Rot drops to the icy ground as the barbarian swings his free arm up in a short arc, slamming into the side of Javelin's sword even as it thrusts out, knocking it aside just enough so that it enters the werebear's shoulder, bursting out the other side in a red spray. The barbarian roars in pain, but he is stuck fast, locked to his foe by at least one blade.

Quinmyutiotu clapped her hands together excitedly. "Wonderful, wonderful~! Did you name her? I think she was in needing of the namings, but I'm not really sure." The dryad shook her head while casting a sidelong glance at the fighting dragons. "They're even scarier looking than what I was told.." Quin thought they were literally gigantic versions of tiny lizards she had seen on occasion scuttling across the ground. She would've commented further on their size, but the feeling of a finger poking at her eyeless socket caused a slight flinch. The thought of being like Kirien prompted a grin from the dryad, and she just had to hug him a third time. "We could be the eyeless friends! ..Seeingless friends? Hm." She couldn't decide which sounded nicer. Shrugging, Quin made a slight frown. "Oh, really? I wonder if it would be okay if we did the switchings? Then you could play, and win! And I could be here to do the cheerings for you."

Satoshi looks thoroughly peeved that the elf spat out no teeth. She'll have to pay the sailor for this one.

Winner: Eboric, unanimous

Eboric heaves himself to his feet, dragging the sword free of Javelin's hands as he does so. It takes all that he has left, but he lifts a booted foot and kicks the elf in the chest, knocking him back to the dirt. Satisfied that he has won this bout, the barbarian turns, locking eyes with Frostmaw's queen where she sits in her booth. His hand curls around the sword's blade, and pulls it free of his shoulder, his face never once betraying the immense pain of the act. He tosses the sword to the ground and spits on it, then collects his weapons and walks proudly from the arena, albeit with an undisguised limp.

Hanan turns, glances up at Satoshi, and grins toothily.

Satoshi watches Eboric limp away with a mixed expression. He'd just put on a damned good fight that has the warriors of Frostmaw cheering in bloodlust, but their last encounter still demands caution in dealing with the man.

Javelin watches as Eboric leaves the coliseum, eyes blazing with intense hatred as his gaze bears into the werebear's back. "We are not done." With a curse spat from 'twixt near-clenched lips, the elf struggles to his feet with a pained grimace and hobbles out of the arena to tend to his wounds. The sword lay where it was , though none other would claim it as a swift snap of fingers brought it back to Javelin's hip as soon as he exited the area.

Satoshi gave 1000 gold to Hanan.

Satoshi hopes her other bet comes through for her, however.